Sometimes, the reality hits me in quiet, mundane moments. Today, I was picking up the shoes that were spread around the house in various places and putting them back on the shoe rack (Libby has a little game with our shoes, where she takes them off the shoe rack and places them in a row on the opposite wall or leaves them throughout the bottom floor of our house where she thinks we might need them). I lined up my plaid rain boots (that Ben laughed at me for wanting in Wichita Falls where it rarely rains; it did, however, rain the day after I got them), Ben’s navy blue Crocs (that he generally only throws on as he races out the door to chase after our dog running down the street), Tuck’s green frog rain boots (that he wears rain or shine), and a little pink pair of shoes for Libby (that I bought at a yard sale for $2 and will be sad when she outgrows). As I sorted through flip flops and sandals and cleaned out backpacks and diaper bags above, the thought drifted in: “there will be more”. More shoes to add to the pile, another backpack or diaper bag, another coat. And I’m filled with that now familiar feeling of excitement and anxiety, dreams and questions, anticipation and longing. The reality is we have no idea who you are (if you’ve even been born yet), when you will get here, how long and how bumpy the journey will be to bring you home and then make you part of our family. But we pray and we wait. And we talk and we read books and we get our home ready for a homestudy. And we wait and we pray. And we dream and we save and we fundraise. And we pray and we wait. And we know, WE KNOW, that it will be hard. BUT so worth it. You’re worth it. And we can’t wait to add your shoes to the pile. -mommy

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We are a family of four (Ben, Beth, Tuck, and Libby) on a journey to become a family of 5through adoption.